The Last Night
by Insanity's Servant
Summary: As a rule, Tony Stark never takes calls from other people's lawyers—especially not after 2 A.M. But when he finds out that an old one-night-stand resulted in both new life and a sudden death, he finds himself caught between the past and the present, and embarks on another one-night journey that will mark his life forever. Rated T for some mature themes. Written by Alassiel.
1. Midnight Call

_Once again, Insanity's Servant has been very merciful in allowing me to hijack her account with my stories. You might remember me from How to Live with a Demigod 101: Alassiel is back! But not with a comedy this time. This is a very different, standalone fic, but I got hit with a plot bunny at 2:00 AM on Saturday, and when I pulled out my laptop to sketch out a few notes, it grew into a small three-part story. _

_Set before Iron Man 3 and after The Avengers, I wasn't quite sure where this little story fit in, so I simply filed it under "Avengers." It spills over into the Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. universe; spoilers ahead if you haven't at least seen the pilot episode. Some minor (but spoiler) references to the 11th episode "It's A Magical Place" later as well, and if you've been following along, it will explain why Coulson is the way he is in Part II of this fic. _

_Those of you who are following Case Red know that I have been struggling to keep my head above the water with illness and education and my original writing endeavors, and that updates have become a rarity lately. I'm sorry we are not yet able to officially suspend the hiatus; however, please humor me this introspective tale, and I think you'll enjoy gazing through the window into the past life and present dilemmas of Tony Stark._

* * *

Part One: Midnight Call

_**"There's no better cure for the fear of taking after one's father,**_

_**than not to know who he is."**_

_**― André Gide**_

"Mmh…"

Rolling over, Tony Stark buried his face in the memory foam mattress and pulled the pillow over his head. What _was_ that incessant buzzing? Was he having a hangover, or was he dreaming again?

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

Clamping his elbows down over the ends of the pillow, Tony shifted to a more comfortable position and kicked the covers down a little further. It was a warm summer night and he'd left the windows open.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

It was more muffled now, but still an unpleasant intrusion on his hitherto pleasant sleep. He'd just been woken up from a wonderful dream about a pool party… Something to do with several dozen adoring women in designer bikinis, and he was desperate to find out how it ended.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

Grumbling profanties, Tony shoved the pillow to one side and fumbled in the bedsheets, feeling for something hard and square. There was no denying it now. That had to be his phone. Hadn't he turned it off before bed?

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bz—_

Dragging himself across the lumpy covers, Tony made a blind swipe for the nightstand and missed. His knuckles grazed the surface, but the phone went spinning wildly out of reach and tipped off the edge of the table, flopping under the bed. A more muffled vibration scolded him from under the plain white dust ruffle.

_Fffvvt. Fffvvt. Fffvvt._

"Oh, for…"

Wriggling to the edge of the mattress, he draped himself over the side of the bed and felt underneath, combing the soft carpet with his fingertips.

Cold, flat, and rectangular, there it sat.

With a triumphant little "hah," Tony fished it out from under the ruffle and held it two inches before his eyes, blinking in the dark at the little white caller I.D. At least, it should have been the caller I.D., but all it said was _Protected_.

It took several minutes and a few more curse words for this to register, but when it did, Tony took a few wild guesses at who would be calling under a secure number and then moved his finger toward the talk button.

Except he pressed the "End Call" button instead.

Stuffing his phone under the pillow, Tony flopped down on the memory foam and covered his eyes with the back of his arm. Back to that dream…

_Fffvvt. Fffvvt. Fffvvt._

Sliding his hand between the pillow and bedsheets, Tony withdrew the phone and let it dangle above his head from two fingers. There was only one annoying top secret organization who would have the nerve to call him at this hour.

_Bzzt! Bzzt!_

Cradling the phone in his palm, he brushed the talk button with his thumb.

"Who is this… and whatever you want, I don't have it," Tony mumbled, speaking around a mouthful of sleep. His lips were dry and cracking and his tongue felt a little numb.

_"Mr. Stark?"_

"Does this have anything to do with a pool party?"

_"A… no."_ The voice faded for a moment, and then returned with more conviction. _"Mr. Stark, this is an urgent call."_

"And I have an urgent need for sleep, so unless you look good in a bikini or you're about to offer me a margarita with a little umbrella in it, I can't take your call."

_"This is Agent Coulson."_

"That doesn't change anything."

_"It might if I said you'd be a lot happier if you cooperated."_

Stifling a yawn, Tony tried to rub some of the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. "How did you even get this number?"

_"I said this was an urgent call. We need to talk."_

"I could have sworn I had it changed…"

_"Mr. Stark, I'm sitting with Mr. Botoni, Attorney at Law, and he wants to arrange a meeting with you today at exactly three o' clock in our debriefing office."_

Attorney at Law? Was he being sued again for the collateral damage caused to New York? Tony blinked and sighed, trying to keep the ceiling from spinning around. "AM or PM?"

"_PM_."

"No."

There was a brief moment of silence. "_AM_?"

"Ha ha."

_"Listen Mr. Stark, this is serious."_

"Am I being sued?"

_"Not exactly."_

"Prosecuted?"

_"I'm afraid not. Does the name 'Lila Harding' sound familiar?"_

Tony stopped breathing for a moment and his heart gave an ominous thump. A few vivid flashes of memory assaulted him, and then a long silence of the mind. If he'd been dreaming before, he was wide awake now. The static from the connection filled in the dead space as Tony brooded.

_"Mr. Stark?"_

With a soft flick of his thumb, Tony ended the call. His phone went dead and dark, and fell from his hand to his chest with a quiet clink. The gentle glow of his arc reactor lent the room a ghostly ambient light as he held his breath, listening to the silence.

The phone slept on.

Tony made a mental note to tell Pepper he had an appointment at three o' clock.

* * *

_If your curiosity is piqued, tell me! I'm sure all of you know the power of a piece of constructive criticism or a kind remark, and even when I don't have time to answer them all they still bring a smile to my face. __Some may wonder why Tony Stark was not surprised by Coulson's appearance, but my only explanation is that it simply works better for the flow of the story. At some prior time, it is implied that he has been notified by SHIELD, likely with the rest of the Avengers._

_And make sure you check out Insanity's Servant's works of fiction – she's an amazing writer, and recently uploaded a heartpoundingly good one-shot based on the Elder Scrolls Series. I'm not a gamer, but I can recommend it for the sheer dramatic impact._

_As always, review for an update! I'll do my best to finish this little adventure before the month is out, but again, my time to write freely is limited._

_Much love to all,_

_Alassiel_


	2. Spilled Secrets

_This story has grown very close to my heart over the course of its development, short though it may be, so your responses were __very__ much appreciated! :) I should also mention that I was greatly inspired by The Ultimate Gift and Family Man – two amazing movies with a powerful message, though for the latter I'd advise a filter for younger audiences._

_(Very) minor spoilers ahead for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. "It's a Magical Place."_

_Enough said; enjoy Part II!_

* * *

Part Two: Spilled Secrets

**_"It has been said that as goes the family, so goes the world. _**

**_It can also be said that as goes the father, so goes the family."  
― Voddie T. Baucham Jr._**

"Where's Hogan?"

Tony shrugged, brushing back the hood of his grey sweatshirt and stuffing his hands in his pockets as the door swung shut behind him. There was a subtle click, and then the only light came from a single fluorescent fixture that ran across the ceiling. The back room of the New York carpet shop smelled like fresh linoleum and factory glue, and the air fresheners hung around the 'office' at various intervals did little to alleviate the oppressive odor. "I don't know. The coffee shop, maybe."

"You came here without a bodyguard?" Coulson lowered his ever-present shades and gave Tony a below-the-brows stare. The light from above shone off his receding hairline and dark glasses, making him appear slightly more intimidating than usual.

"Skip the lecture, Phil," Tony demanded, cocking his head to one side and rocking back on the balls of his sneakers. "When are you planning to strap me to a chair, shine a bright light in my eyes, and start the interrogation? You call me at two o' clock in the morning, tell me it's urgent, and then hang up—"

"Actually, _you_ hung up on _me_."

"—so don't give me that old protective supervisor stuff." He waved him off with a careless flick of his wrist, but the longer he talked, the tighter grew the knot in his chest. "I can take care of myself. What did you bring me down here for? I want the dirt."

"I'll give it to you," promised Coulson.

"Good." Tony pulled out a folding chair from the long table and kicked it open, but he didn't sit down. Not yet. "You can start by telling me why Lila Harding is suing me."

Coulson made a smoothing motion with one hand, the face of his wristwatch glinting in the dim light. "Nobody's suing you."

"Far from it." The voice was deep, stern, and authoritative, and instantly commanded not only Tony's attention but Coulson's as well. As one, they turned toward the table, where Tony now noticed a short and rather broad silhouette sitting at the far end.

"Mr. Botoni," he guessed, but there was nothing hospitable in his tone.

"Mr. Stark," returned the lawyer more pleasantly, rising from his chair and setting aside a stack of papers. "As an alternative to legal details, I have a small proposition that may settle things right away."

"And I won't hear anything until I know what Harding has to do with this," insisted Tony. "Where is she? What's going on?"

Mr. Botoni didn't blink. "She died on September 23, 2008."

For once, Tony had nothing to say. His lungs emptied in a tight, quick sigh, but it was more of an agitated breath than a resignation. Words fled. He was too startled to notice Coulson's hand gently pressed against the back of his shoulder; if he had, he would have shrugged it off immediately, but as it was, the stalwart agent's comfort was neither accepted nor rejected.

There was no pause, no time to think. Mr. Botoni simply continued with his proposition as if nothing of importance had been announced. "It is not on the late Miss Harding's behalf that I come here today, but rather on behalf of a Mrs. Jung, someone who has a more intimate connection to you than you might expect. And it was not, per se, on an errand of prosecution, but an errand of mercy." The lawyer casually picked the top leaf from the stack, his gaze flicking over it briefly, though this was clearly just for show. He seemed to know his case—if it could be called a case from his manner of speaking—inside and out. "Mr. Stark, please accept my belated congratulations."

Without another word, Mr. Botoni stepped across the dark office and handed him the small and unassuming paper.

* * *

**CERTIFICATION OF LIVE BIRTH**

STATE OF IDAHO * SMELTERVILLE

DEPARTMENT OF STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION

ENFORCEMENT AND LOGISTICS DIVISION

CERTIFICATE NO. 579399095571106

CHILD'S NAME: CHRISTINA ANTOINETTE HARDING

DATE OF BIRTH: September 23, 2008

HOUR OF BIRTH: 12:01 AM

SEX: FEMALE

CITY, TOWN, OR LOCATION OF BIRTH: SMELTERVILLE

COUNTY OF BIRTH: SHOSHONE

MOTHER'S MAIDEN NAME: LILA ROSE HARDING

MOTHER'S RACE: CAUCASIAN

FATHER'S NAME: ANTHONY EDWARD STARK

FATHER'S RACE: CAUCASIAN

DATE FILED BY REGISTRAR: October 2, 2008

_This copy serves as prima facie evidence of the fact of birth in any court proceeding, but is to remain in custody of the Idaho State Branch of Homeland Intervention unless otherwise directed._

**ANY ALTERATIONS INVALIDATE THIS CERTIFICATE**

* * *

Tony was suddenly glad he had pulled out the folding chair. It squeaked as he sat down heavily and slapped the certificate onto the table.

"It isn't uncommon for clients to run out the door at this point in the proceedings," remarked the lawyer coolly. "Your self-control is admirable."

Nobody spoke for several minutes.

The overhead light buzzed, and flickered.

Coulson reached up to loosen his tie.

And then something shifted in the air, prompting Tony to voice his observations. "This is a SHIELD-issue certificate," he noticed apprehensively, tracing his finger over the logo in the upper right-hand corner.

"Yes." It was Coulson. "Miss Harding had been hiding from the public for some time, and it took us several months to track her down, but we finally found her at a shelter in Smelterville, Idaho. She gave up everything—family support and financial aid. Most of it was poor decision-making on her part, but it's apparent that she barely knew what to do with herself. She didn't want to be found, but we made sure she remained safe and paid all expenses for the remainder of her life… short as it was." Coulson drew in a quiet breath and pulled out the chair beside Tony's. "Mr. Botoni requested that it be handed over to him. The president of Personal Affairs refused, but he kept asking down the line and eventually I got wind of it."

Glancing up, Tony was surprised to see Coulson's stare glistening in the light, and a few creases had wrinkled up around tired eyes. He'd never known the agent to wear his heart on his sleeve about anything. "And—you handed it to him? Just like that?"

Coulson didn't answer Tony's question, but turned his head a little and squinted down at the certificate, as if seeing it for the first time. "We changed her last name to Lowe and moved her around for her first few years in foster care," he said rather distantly. "I wasn't put in charge of the case myself, but I did some digging yesterday. Eventually, things got tough, and moving her wasn't an option anymore."

Tony's heart caught in his chest, sticking to his ribs and strangling him. He couldn't have said a word even if he'd wanted to.

"Nobody wanted to take her into direct SHIELD custody, so we settled her down with an adoption and tried to keep her out of the public eye. Not even her adoptive parents knew anything—until one of her old foster families made a call." The stress lines around Coulson's mouth tightened and he nodded toward Mr. Botoni. "That's when her adoptive mother, Mrs. Jung, started asking questions. Somehow, word got around to Mr. Botoni, and he volunteered to be her lawyer… for a very good reason. He knows SHIELD inside and out."

Mr. Botoni smiled serenely. "That is correct. And you know why I no longer work for government agencies."

"We don't need to go into that now," Coulson said firmly, giving Mr. Botoni a pointed stare.

Tony interrupted their face-off with a weary question; he felt even more tired than he had when Coulson called at two o' clock. He hadn't slept the rest of the night, and the information the lawyer had just assaulted him with had come too thick and fast to process all at once. "What's your proposition? Some kind of… settlement?" His query seemed ashamedly hollow and materialistic, even to him. He almost wished it _was_ a settlement, and alternately hoped for it and hated himself.

"Well, Mr. Stark," said Mr. Botoni, turning and facing him with a look of utmost seriousness that didn't fail to annoy the billionaire. "I am sure you will share in my incredulity that Mrs. Jung _isn't_ filing for financial support. I told her who the child's father was, of course, it was only fair that my client know everything; however, she made it clear that she didn't want to trouble you any more than necessary. On the flip side, she does have a favor to ask of you."

Tony felt his stomach turn. His fingers sweated on the desk, wrinkling into the edges of the birth certificate, and he swallowed a bitter lump. "Favor, huh."

"Yes, a favor, and whether you choose to uphold it or ignore it is entirely a matter of conscience and free will. I offered to press charges—" Here Tony got the distinct feeling that the lawyer would have gloried in doing so. "—but Mrs. Jung would have none of it. Instead, she asked if I would pass on an invitation to you."

Images of skating rinks, school recitations, birthday events, informal dinners, and piñata parties all crammed into Tony's mind and he gave an involuntary shudder. If it was any one, or all, of those things, he would have to seriously consider turning her offer down. Already he was having visions of the paparazzi cover photos and headlines in the tabloids: 'Notorious Womanizer Tony Stark Dines at Chuck-E-Cheese with Underage Girl – Celebrity Pedophile?'

He was awakened from this nightmare by a quick tap on the desk as Mr. Botoni straightened the stack of papers and tucked them under his jacket. "Agent Coulson will fill you in on the details, but all you are obligated to do is meet with Mrs. Jung in private. She will make the request and all further arrangements herself. Shall I send her your regrets, Mr. Stark?"

Tony stared blankly down at the birth certificate on the desk. The corners had curled up beneath his fingertips, but the bold type stared back at him in mockery: FATHER. It was a bitter title, one that his own father had barely warranted. And yet directly beneath it was _his_ name in all caps.

Anthony Edward Stark.

Had circumstances been different, that might have been Lila's last name, too… and Christina, whoever she was, wouldn't have grown up in the foster system. But he couldn't go back and undo past decisions, any more than he could attach the term "father" to his own name now. That one night had been the worst mistake of his life.

When he glanced up again, Mr. Botoni was waiting by the office door, his finger on the handle. "Well?"

Uncomfortably aware that he was making the second-worst mistake of his life, Tony released an unsteady breath and straightened, pushing the chair away from the table, though his knees were shaking almost too badly to stand. "…I'll go."

"And that's more than I expected. Agent Coulson. Mr. Stark." With a terse nod, the lawyer turned the handle, stepped out into the back room of the carpet shop, and disappeared with the muffled jangling of a doorbell.

The silence he left in his wake was deafening. After a few tense moments, Coulson stood as well and smoothed his rumpled tie. "I think that was a wise decision."

Tony pulled up the hood of his sweater and hesitated, watching the agent. He moved like an old man, slow and deliberate, and even his voice seemed different. Softer. Less sure of himself. A startling contrast to the cocksure confidence he had exuded as long as Tony had known the Director's right-hand man.

"But why…" Tony waved a hand, too flabbergasted for words. "Why did you even take the time to… look into this?"

Coulson picked up the certificate in both hands, holding it under the light. "I died," he reminded him simply, smoothing his thumb over the paper. "And when I died, I left behind unfinished work… and… some regrets. You deserved to know." He pulled his shades out of his pocket, but didn't put them on right away. "Don't let this be one of your regrets, Mr. Stark."

With a last, forced smile, Coulson pressed the certificate into Tony's hand. "We won't be needing this. Her file and all associated records have been destroyed. Lila would have wanted it that way."

_Destroyed?_ With mingled emotions of spite and reverence, Tony crumpled the paper in his hands and stuffed it into his sweater pocket. He wished they had destroyed the certificate, too... and he had the feeling that Coulson would do it if he asked him to. But his fingers inadvertently tightened on the little document, and he said nothing.

Presently, it seemed that there was nothing more to be said by either party. As one the two men turned toward the door, and Coulson held it open for both of them to pass through. They were greeted by the bright lights and florid colors of the shop, and Tony was forced to blink profusely as they made their way through the racks of rolled carpet to the front of the store.

A small bell jingled as they pushed outside, and Tony was immediately blasted with the rush of traffic and the warm afternoon smells of restaurant food, car exhaust, wet paint, perspiration, and hot concrete.

For a moment, as if by mutual consent, they stood there, hands in pockets, on the sidewalk. Tony said nothing, and Coulson was likewise silent for several minutes. They stood together against the hustle of the Big Apple, letting the tide flow around them.

And then Coulson turned his gaze on Tony. It was a hauntingly empty visage, stripped of all emotion, and it rattled the billionaire to the bone. Everything that had been said that day paled against the agent's sober stare. "SHIELD keeps secrets. That's their job. It's been their job as long as I've been working under the Director… But some secrets aren't meant to be left in the dark, locked up in secure storage where no man can touch them—" Coulson's voice caught slightly, and he glanced down, briefly brushing his hand over the rumpled sleeve of Tony's sweater as he passed. "Even when the man is touched most by the secret."

For a moment, Tony watched Coulson's retreating form, too thoughtful to notice that the light had turned white on the crosswalk. It wasn't until he was well and truly out of sight, lost among the hectic traffic and bustling pedestrians of New York City, that Tony realized he'd forgotten to ask him where to meet Mrs. Jung.

With a beleaguered, growling sigh, the billionaire jerked the certificate out of his pocket and uncrumpled it, glaring at the finely printed letters. And then a folded corner caught his eye.

An ink blotch.

Tony flipped the certificate over and stared at the back. The eerie knowledge that—some how—some way—Coulson had _known_ he would keep the certificate faded before the handwritten note carefully penned onto the back:

_Meet Mrs. Jung at the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, 5:00 PM tomorrow._

_No more secrets._

_Phil_

* * *

_Thank you so much for sharing this story with me—we're almost at The End._

_Review for the third and final chapter!_

_~Alassiel_


End file.
